Maybe there's a lesson in all this, come to think of it.

When I was four, in my gold sparkly shoes, I watched Nicole in her ruby slippers, as she looked like Dorothy, twirl in the backyard. We clicked our heels, and Nicole said that we had to really close our eyes, really believe in it, or else, it wouldn’t happen. We wouldn’t be whisked away to Oz. As Dr. J’s daughter, I played along, in a sense, but I was investigating Dr. J. I peeked, she kept her eyes closed, arms outstretched, just turning around the backyard in total surrender. I wondered whether Dr. J didn’t develop past this phase, a developmental problem, as the imagination appeared very real to Nicole. We could be beamed up to Oz, though the moment naturally dissipated, she didn’t become obsessional, she wasn’t crying out to the Gods. (Angelica would laugh at me. I said funny things.) The Neapolitans just recognize me as Neapolitan, we remember “the Gods…” sure.

I usually insert that kind of language to make fun of Naples, because it feels awesome there, like nature inspired the Gods to be born, as they even trace the origins of the city to the siren that attempted to heal Odysseus. We vowed to rise a city of music around her dead body, and we did. She’s a university, not a killer, and if she’s a wicked siren, no one really cares in Naples. But she did invent the pastiera, you see, she’s making desserts, we’re not in any danger, we’re the people who went, “what a lovely song…” we weren’t in the throes, this was just music to us, and these people, the Neapolitans, they are the siren people. They can seize you with their voice. They can fling you around. They can come at you like a tidal wave. They burst out into song — and its a magic weave in the air, this is FOOD, they say, real food, do not be ridiculous. Music is food. That’s what they believe, not really a turn of phrase, they believe it’s food. They do not have modern problems.

Anyway, Naples, it truly truly makes me laugh. You think I’m joking, and I’ve had my moments when I go, I must be joking, and I never am.

I thought about Dr. J’s condition, as I was trying to understand her, and she lied, indeed, and she cast a spectacle of stories, and she even acted like a fairytale that I became aware of the imagination as a real space young. It’s a state in a child that’s even respected, we pretend Santa Claus is a real magical man in a red suit coming down the chimney, deilvering presents to every child in the world in one night… this story was never going to work on me, it wasn’t happened. I was Dr. J’s daughter. But we preserve if not cherish this moment in time before a child transitions into the space where that’s — it’s just not real. Santa Claus does not exist, however, as a symbol, idea, there is no much belief in him, that he does, in a sense. But not for everyone. I’m speaking from my cultural architecture. We might not be aware of it, but it’s there, and it’s in the belief system. I wondered about Dr. J, if she had a disorder, simply, even. She’s a genius, sure, I get that, so she’s not normal, she’s not like normal people, but she was an addict, a severe one. And as I’m matured, as I had to grow up through this, you see, it had its challenges, that she was so mentally ill, strange, a truly strange woman, so maybe she did have a developmental problem, but she was also an addict. That’s one of these very real problems. Her business manager, this random man, who miraculously even — descended from the wings right as the sex scandal on Miracle Mile was getting real, really out of control, and saved Dr. J. He snatched her, took her away, because “she’s a genius.” Oh really? Need your taxes done, quietly? That took too long. That thought. More so than anything else, I have become fascinated at how well people can hide, or how the thought didn’t even occur to you. To be frank, I’m digressing, but Mr. Ghomi was a fascinating man.

Who even was this guy? A spy? He told me in a paranoid fashion in public, even, switching the channel in my mind, with James Bond now tuning in on the psychospiritual plane, “can you believe this?” That’s what I’m saying under my breath to him as Ghomi, paranoid fashion, as if people could be listening, even, in this hotel lobby that he used to work for THE government. There are many government jobs. Why is he acting like a secret spy? Not that he is one, but why is he acting like one? Like, I’m trying to give this man the EXIT, I’m trying to maintain professionalism. Telling some girl in the lobby of the Continental Hotel in Paris, France — I had never seen anything as unprofessional. He’s losing it! Telling some girl. I do not need to know. So he’d rather not “talk about it,” what he did for “the government.” That’s just an outting with Dr. J, rare though that may have been. Then she’s telling me, when he gets up to go to the bathroom after that, and I ask her, what was up with that? She’s —shush shush — patting her lips, finger. She rubs her fingers together, “double life.” And the thing is, I don’t know what these people would say if they were interrogated, I know what they said though. And why lie, why say it, if it was a lie? When it’s pointless? No sense.

ANYWAY, amazingly, he could change a roo, he had a particular effect wherever he was, he’s in charge, he’s the type of person who’s getting inside with no problem at all, no matter where it is. He’s just walking in… the doors open. He inspired an authority that just opened doors. A woman working for T-Mobile as he wanted to pay for my cell phone, this moment, for my mother, of course. She didn’t even ask him for a last name, “Ghomi,” that’s all he said. “First name, last name,” she said. “Ghomi.” And that was fine, in his case. He’s that person. He fascinated me. Why did he save my mother from bankruptcy? That question remained cloaked. It was the public stage, if you would, that exposed it. A genius, come on. He might not have been a spy, who knows with this guy, but he probably had an operation where he might have seen a need, taxes. And he agreed to get her out. Personally, it appears so obvious, it’s stupid. That’s the funny thing, about psychology, people think they’re so smart. And in the hospital, I thought, he’d make such a good villain. He’d be one of these villain people would go NUTS over — because he’s just walking in. It doesn’t matter where it is. He’d be magnificient. Because he is Aikido, he is not against. He’s not a villain, he’s going to say something interesting about it. From Iran. And was he a dictator? Sort of. He was. He lived on an edge. So anyway, imagine? Dr. J ends up teaming up with a dictator, type, or someone with a mysterious persona.

Yes, that’s where I’m at.

At least I could find an avenue for all this — just make him an amazing villain. And who knows? Maybe that will become something one day. I laughed at my friend, she wanted to write a TV episode about this hospital trip? I hide the MEMOIR — stash it away — because my mother is really a spy, you see, the space of cinema, and I cracked up, really. Picturing Ghomi getting bent out of shape over a book? That had to be a book of extraordinary importance. Because all he has to do, is pick up the phone. Aikido. It’s not getting published. He’s not in a rush. He’s laughing, the dictator. It has to go through several stages. And I started enjoying imagining, looking at spy shows, where people work for “the government,” Ghomi, how Ghomi would handle it. He’s just walking in. He’s going to find me in the hospital. It’s called a courtesy call. So I had a great time, it took time, but in the end, I had a stellar cast of characters. Might as well use them.

But maybe there’s a lesson in all this, because what do people believe in? I ended up in the center of my triggers. When I think about some of these wild ideas I got lured into. The Guru, John Malkovich, he’s going to show us why he’s John Malkovich, as I believe he would be cast as the guru. I don’t need to go there. It’s a touch too real. Maybe people don’t totally believe in what they believe in — that’s the lesson, in thinking about Dr. J being a white out — they don’t believe totally. But her appearance in church, accosting the priest with her rapes, it was performance art, what do you believe in? Her performance was so unbelievable, but the priest behaves as though he’s not luring children, not him, specifically, but the holy holy routine was even buffooned by Dr. J. She was a buffoon. A picture-perfect grotesque, for real. That’s my mother. It was fascinating to see ways the mind can’t turn— you don’t believe her? What about him? My mirror — and she shone very bright. If I came from someone like that, have a heart, I heard enough crazy shit. But Dr. J is skipping across lawns, an experimentalist, in a Krizia suit — hitting on someone along the way — she’s believing everything, everything she hears, she’s channeling currently. She’s bending a piece of paper, “reality.” I’m telling you, I didn’t think I had a belief problem. I didn’t think I could get caught up in corners that even Oprah believes in. She believes in manifesting. Like you can realize your dream, no? But that’s not the same thing as psychology. There’s a real world. And as one can imagine, I’m trying to manifest 500k in a box, I want 500k to arrive in a box, this is what I am trying to manifest. Is that… possible? Can I make this happen? Probably not.

I think there are limits. I ended up in a realm of thought that I didn’t need to enter. It’s really not my scene. If anything the manifestation obsession made me feel more problematic, that made trying to do something wrought, it wasn’t my problem. I don’t know if I needed to push the barriers of reality — if you would. And this man presented himself as such an autthority and it worked, I didn’t even know what hit me, perhaps his strangeness cast a spell, and it surprised me so deeply coming out of that time. Like wait a minute. You asshole. What were you doing? I’m making it up, yeah? John Malkovich. It’s all made up, he will have mad sides, of course he will, he’s not there, he’s not doing anything, I’m the one doing everything — that was insane. And I’m glad I worked through the fear to speak out about this guy. Ridiculous. I had to exercise real discernment there, because that blew me away when I realize I got lured in… unreal. This guy was OUT THERE for sure, if you would, and the anger I felt for this man… what were you doing? I looked back at step one and said that, I took on way too much, way too much. I took it all on.

Belief. Out there dude.

And he would have to LIE you see about these instances — in public. Go ahead, it would be amazing to see him lie. “Why would you think that would be appropriate?” Why would you treat someone like that? So — cue X-Men — I came from a sex scandal — surfing on interdimensional reality — just trying to get real. I was a real person through that, you see, I was, I was. And yet, I sometimes remember myself back there, and I’m shocked — shocked. WHO is this? WHY are you acting like that? Hannah Arendt shut down that, in my mind, it took my breath away. Did you call me enchanted? Enchanting? Or something? I wasn’t so convinced, in the end, that the quality attracted reality, attracted what I wanted, so I might still look like I’m from a fairytale, I don’t know, but Dr. J looked like she stepped out of a fairytale. But I wish someone told me to play a princess or something, I don’t know, I was confused — really. What were people seeing? Later on in life, I ran into trouble, big trouble. And I did not see it coming. The GURU was not well. And — hm? — the sexual trauma specialist doesn’t give a shit, you see, he doesn’t give a shit WHO it is, so did he take advantage of me? Who knows. That guy was super super weird. Just picture Hannah Arendt peering through this situation. She’s not going to understand what is happening. If someone were reading the story, they would have started getting very nervous with this man… and then, hm, are we just in strange obsessions with creating reality, even pine cones? You’re making up the construction cones? Is this wisdom? So deranged. He does think I’m Carl Jung, doesn’t he? A strange case, this one. And why was in INSIDE my heart? I had never gone through such a wild heart journey. That was unnecessary, fetish, even, weird. It wasn’t even sexual? He wasn’t even attracted to me? What are you doing? It wasn’t a friendship. He was helping me… in this way…. manifesting.

Wow, seriously, I look back on me, and Arendt — I started disappearing a long time ago, but we move through time, and over time, I couldn’t resolve a core issue in my case, which was — I was a real person. Stop treating me like that. I hadn’t seen my cousins in 15 years, and the second I walk into Franco and Flora’s — Franco starts snapping at me, practically. Now, I’d say, “relax.” You see. I don’t give a shit what I did, didn’t do, I’m here right now. It’s not that I had problems the second I appeared, that was not the direction to go in, it was — HEY, there’s A LINE. That took time. I had to adjust my basic step one. I’m coming in already apologizing. I’m not seeing that my basic operation is a no go. YOU — ME — separate. Discernment. Boundaries — for me, they help you to see what’s in front of you. This guru.